Читать книгу Hitched! - Ruth Jean Dale - Страница 10

JESSICA’S GRANDMOTHER let out a bloodcurdling screech and leaped into the aisle, blocking it. Her frantic gaze met that of the gunman and she screamed again. She turned, then stumbled after Jessica, blundering into the curtain.

“Crazy old bat.” All the gunman’s attention was riveted on the floundering woman. His lip curled and he squeezed the trigger.

Rand acted purely on instinct. Grabbing the gun hand, he shoved it up and the bullet whistled harmlessly into the overhead luggage bin. Struggling into the aisle, he wrestled for the gun, slowly forcing the hijacker back.

In the cramped space, the man teetered, swore. Balance gone, he made a panicky grab for the last straw—Rand, who fought off the grasping hands.

The hijacker toppled backward, bouncing off the metal arm of a seat on his way down. He landed flat on his back, his head striking the floor with a solid thump. The gun popped free, ending up at Rand’s feet. The hijacker didn’t move.

Breathing hard, Rand bent to retrieve the weapon. The plane lurched, bounced, skidded, knocking him to his hands and knees—but he had the gun. He struggled up, to find Maxine kneeling in the aisle seat. Her eyes behind the ugly glasses were wide and scared.

She gave voice to the obvious. “You could have been killed!”

“You wanted me to do something, didn’t you?”

The insurance guy, back from the rest room, pointed to the unconscious man in the aisle. “He’s out cold. One down and one to go!”

Rand hefted the comforting weight of the pistol in his hand. He didn’t give a hoot in hell what the insurance guy had to say but for some reason thought Maxine’s opinion might be useful. “Now what?”

“How about this,” she responded promptly. “You stand in the entryway beside the cockpit.” She’d obviously given their situation some thought. “I’ll scream my head off, and when the other hijacker comes out to see what’s going on, you get the drop on him.”

Rand groaned. This sounded like a recipe for disaster. “There’s gotta be an easier way.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You think of it, then. This plane is going to stop soon and when the guy up front sees what you’ve done to his partner—” She made an appropriate slashing motion across her own throat, complete with sound effects.

Her point was well taken. A gun battle inside an airplane would not be a good idea. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “You sure this’ll work?”

“As sure as you were that we’d be off this plane three hours ago.”

She had him there. “Lacking a better idea…”

The level of hysterical wailing in tourist class steadily increased, although first-class passengers appeared too stunned to join in. Jessica’s shrieks soared above all else, but he deliberately shut out the racket. “You.” He indicated the insurance agent. “Keep an eye on that guy. If he so much as blinks, slug him.”

“Hard enough to make him see stars for a month,” the man promised. He dragged a heavy hardcover book out of his seat pocket and held it at the ready.

“All set?” Rand looked at Maxine.

She took a deep breath and nodded. The woman wasn’t short on nerve.

Satisfied, Rand stepped over the unconscious hijacker, then crept toward the front of the airplane. The revolver gave him confidence, although he hadn’t held one in years. His father and great-grandfather had taken pains to teach him how to handle firearms when he was just a kid, before the days of political correctness.

The plane came to a final grinding stop. Holding his breath, Rand placed an ear flat against the cockpit door and strained to hear. Nothing. He turned and positioned himself to the side, where he’d be hidden when the door opened. Maxine, standing near the flight attendants’ galley on the left, looked to him for a signal.

He nodded and she nearly split his eardrums.

“Eeeee…! No! Stop! Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you! Aaargh! Eeeeee…!”

The cockpit door slammed open so hard that it banged against the barrel of Rand’s pistol. For a moment he couldn’t see Maxine and terror swamped him. If he screwed up and she was the one who got hurt—

“Dammit, what’s goin’ on out here? I’ve had just about enough of—”

Rand shoved the door with all his strength and raised the pistol, fully prepared to shoot the crap out of the hijacker. Instead, he looked into the blank face of a man who didn’t know what had hit him…a man slowly crumpling, knocked silly when the heavy door connected solidly with his head.

The insurance salesman rushed up “We got him!”

The pilot barged through the door, rumpled and a bit crazed. Dried blood crusted his forehead, but he didn’t appear to be seriously hurt. He stopped short at the sight of his tormentor sprawled on the floor. “What the hell!”

The co-pilot joined them, taking everything in at a glance. “Where’s the other one?” he demanded.

“In first class, dead to the world.” The insurance guy pointed.

Rand finally got a word in edgewise. “Where are we?”

“Mexico,” the pilot said. “It’s a miracle we’re still alive. Those guys wanted to go to Argentina. By the time they finally agreed to a fuel stop, things were getting desperate.” He slapped the other pilot on the shoulder. “It’s a damn good thing you remembered this old airport, Joe.”

The co-pilot shrugged. “My dad used to fly in and out of here in the fifties. This place was an early Cancún, apparently.” He didn’t look as if he fully believed what had happened, even now. “We’d better get the door open and see what the hell we’ve landed in.”

Rand had more immediate concerns. Where was Maxine? Still hiding in the galley? “Here.” He thrust the revolver into the salesman’s hand. “Take over.”

Turning away, he finally spotted Maxine struggling up the rapidly filling aisle. She was lugging her suitcase and his, his briefcase slung over her shoulder. He pushed his way to meet her, so relieved that he nearly put an arm around her.

She leaned close to be heard. “I don’t know about you, but I want out of here.”

“You and me both.” But now new worries set in. Neither friends nor family were aware he was on this plane and publicity was the last thing he wanted. Was there a way to avoid all the hoopla surrounding a hijacking?

“When the door opens…” she began.

“Just part of the crowd.” He tried to shield her from the press of frantic passengers stumbling over the unconscious man in the aisle as if they didn’t even know who he was.

Suddenly the airplane door blew. Instead of leading the charge to escape, Rand stepped aside, drawing Maxine with him. A dozen or so passengers rushed to the opening where the door had been.

No jetway awaited them, just a too-short metal stairway leading down to a graveled field. The first step was a good six feet below the door, but that merely slowed the stampede instead of stopping it.

Two Mexican officials trying to climb into the plane were instead shoved out of the way by the mob. At the first break in the exodus, they tried again with better results. Shouting in a mixture of Spanish and broken English, gesturing grandly, they forced the passengers back until they could drag the two still-unconscious hijackers to the door and pass them down to colleagues waiting on the stairs.

By then, the flight attendants had gained the upper hand, and the evacuation proceeded in a more orderly manner. When the time came, Rand moved into the line, drawing Maxine with him. At the door, he lowered her to the first step, tossed out the luggage and leaped down beside her. When they reached solid ground again, dry heat hit him a hammer blow.

Even in growing darkness, he could easily see that they’d landed in the middle of nowhere. Off to his right, a few lights glowed in the distance, evidence of civilization. Other than that, all he could make out was a small concrete block building at the edge of the field and an overabundance of cactus and rocks.

The pilot had it right; this was insane. The hijacked plane, on the small size by commercial standards, dwarfed the two private planes parked nearby at the edge of what appeared to be a vast network of crumbling pavement.

Maxine’s whole body sagged. “I never thought we’d get off that airplane alive.”

He slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, don’t cave now. You were great. Hell, we were great.”

She managed a shaky smile. “We weren’t bad at that. Do you suppose—”

“That way, señor.” A uniformed Mexican official bustled up, indicating that they should join the flow of passengers toward a metal shack on the edge of the field. “My colleagues wait to interview all the passengers. We must determine the facts surrounding this crime.”

Rand and Maxine exchanged dubious glances. “We don’t know a thing, but we’re happy to cooperate,” he assured the officer. Once out of earshot, he had a different message for her.

“Look,” he said in a low voice, “I don’t want to get any more mixed up in this than I have to. I’m going to ask that insurance guy if he’ll take the responsibility for bringing down the bad guys.”

“You’ll never get away with it.”

“I will if you’ll go along with me. Nobody really saw what happened except you, me and that salesman. Jessica and her grandmother were heading the other direction, if you recall, and those up front were cowering, not watching.”

“Yes, but—”

“Maxine, please do this.”

“Why? You did a brave thing. You should get credit for it.”

“It wasn’t brave—it was an automatic reflex. I don’t want credit.”

“Or publicity, apparently.”

“That, too.” She was shrewd, that one. “Will you stick with me on this?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Okay,” she relented. “If you can get that guy from Dubuque to lie through his teeth, I suppose it’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks. He’s right over there, so how about you watch the luggage while I talk to him.” The salesman wasn’t going to be a problem, though. He already half believed he’d pulled off the rescue all by himself.

WHEN RAND TOLD the authorities, innocent locals because the big-city boys hadn’t yet arrived on the scene, that the villains were brought down by the heroic actions of the insurance salesman from Dubuque, nobody questioned this version of events. Maxine, however, gave him a look that he found almost…calculating.

IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, Maxine and Rand followed their luggage onto the last of three aged buses for the short ride into the village of Platillo Volante. Exhausted and unhappy, the Alar passengers settled into their seats with barely a murmur.

When the pilot rose at the front of the bus, nobody seemed to care much. Clinging to a pole while the bus careered down the rocky road, he called for attention.

Someone at the back of the bus roused enough to shout a question. “What time will we be taking off tomorrow? I gotta get home to Texas.”

“Uh, that’s what I have to talk to you about.”

Dead silence greeted this announcement. In the third seat from the front, Rand and Maxine exchanged startled glances.

The pilot continued. “I regret to inform you that the plane was damaged in landing. It looks like…it looks like we’ll have to bus you folks out of here.”

“Bus us out of here!”

“To the nearest decent airport,” the pilot elaborated. “Alar Airlines will send in a crew to fix the plane, but it would be too dangerous to have passengers on board when we take her up, even if you wanted to wait around.”

“Where’s the nearest decent airport, then?”

The pilot squirmed. “They tell me that Platillo Volante is only a few hours from Tijuana. Alar Airlines will send nice, air-conditioned buses to transport us there just as soon as arrangements can be made. In the meantime, you’ll be staying at the best hotel in town.”

“To hell with this,” Rand muttered to Maxine. “I don’t have time to sit around in Podunk, Mexico.”

“What makes you think you have a choice?” she retorted. “Think of it as a nice Mexican vacation.”

She had a point, but he was still fuming over the glitch in his plans when the bus pulled up in front of the “best hotel in all of Platillo Volante.” A collective groan arose from the captive guests. If the crumbling exterior of the once-grand building was any indication, they were in for a rough night.

Weary travelers dragged off the bus and stood around in dejected bunches, waiting for the driver to unload their luggage.

And in Rand’s case, waiting some more. By the time all the others had picked up their bags and wandered into the hotel, he realized he had a little problem. When the driver would have gotten back on the bus, Rand stopped him.

“Wait a minute. My briefcase is missing.”

All this got him was a blank look and a “¿Señor?”

“I said—”

“Let me try,” Maxine suggested, launching into fluent Spanish.

The man’s response was not encouraging. He shrugged, spread his arms wide, said a few words, climbed into the bus and drove away.

“He says—”

“Yeah, I figured it out. My briefcase is missing.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Dammit!”

She looked genuinely distressed. “I hope there wasn’t anything valuable inside.”

“Just my life,” he grumbled.

An exaggeration, but he was in no mood to worry about that. In addition to a few personal letters, a magazine or two, an address book and a bottle of water, all he could remember sticking in that briefcase was a safe-deposit key to a box in a bank in Boston—a nearly empty box, unfortunately. Nobody in Mexico was likely to figure that out.

“You can always contact the police,” she interrupted his thoughts.

“Think so?” He glowered at her. “You may not have noticed, but I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Really? Even a little?” She appeared dubious. “I mean, you grew up in Texas, after all.”

“What makes you think I grew up in Texas?” He looked around and realized everyone else had gone inside. “I spent most of my time at boarding schools or in Boston with my mother’s side of the family.” He lifted his remaining piece of luggage. “Summers I spent in Texas, but I only picked up enough Spanish to order desayuno, comida and antojitos—breakfast, lunch and something to go with the beer.” He headed for the hotel door.

She hurried after him. “I still think—”

“I wish you wouldn’t. I’ve got enough trouble without that.” He strode through the hotel entrance. “The briefcase is spilled milk. There’s no need crying about it.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Stepping up to an ornately carved desk, he spoke to the grinning clerk. “Wipe that smirk off your face or I’ll do it for you. The young lady and I would each like a single with bath. Tell ’im, Maxine.”

The clerk’s dark eyes flashed and the smile vanished. “Tell the gringo I caught that one,” he replied in accents that could only be learned on the mean streets of Los Angeles. “You say you’d like two singles with bath, huh? Well, I’d like a trip to Europe, which is just about as likely.” The clerk, José, according to his name tag, reached under the counter, pulled out an ornate key and slapped it down in front of Rand. “Room one.”

Embarrassed but too tired and annoyed to apologize, Rand plunged ahead. “Room one—that sounds good. Best in the house, right?” He handed the key to Maxine. “That’ll do for the lady. Now, how about me?”

“I told you, room number one. That’s all we got left. It’s downstairs next to an air conditioner. We don’t usually rent it, but since you ask so damn nice—” José’s mouth curled up. He was really enjoying this.

Rand stared at the key, then at the clerk. “If I apologize and ask real nice, do you think you could find one more room?”

The man’s slowly shaking head ended that line of questioning. “This is all we got. Take it or leave it.”

Rand glanced at Maxine. “Do we take it?”

“Have we got a choice?”

“Apparently not.” His stomach rumbled. “Any chance we can get something to eat?” he asked José.

The clerk seemed to relent a bit. “I guess I could send something to your room. Nothing fancy, though. A couple of burritos, maybe a quesadilla.”

“That sounds great.” Rand’s mouth watered at the mere mention of food. He hadn’t had anything since breakfast, if you didn’t count a couple of cheese cubes and a package of pretzels. He looked around. “There wouldn’t be anybody handy to show us the way?” José’s expression made him add, “No, I suppose not.”

“It’s just me,” the clerk said with a shrug. “I can take you to the room or bring food, your choice.”

It really wasn’t a choice at all.

RAND’S CLOSET in Boston was bigger than this room. His sister’s childhood playhouse behind the Rocking T ranch house was bigger than this room. The desk clerk’s ego was bigger than this room.

Maxine took the high road. “At least it looks reasonably clean,” she said primly, dropping her suitcase at the foot of the bed.

“Reasonably.” Rand sat down cautiously on the double bed. Other than that, the only furniture in the tiny room was a small chest of drawers and a night table with lamp.

“If you hadn’t been such a jerk, this wouldn’t have happened,” she said, abandoning the high road.

“That’s harsh.” He gave her a reproving glance.

“Reality’s harsh,” she countered. “And the reality is, I’m stuck in this cubbyhole with a complete stranger. I don’t deserve this.”

“If it’s any comfort, neither do I.”

“No comfort at all.” She opened the top drawer of the bureau and looked in curiously. “How are you going to explain this to your girlfriend?”

“What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

“You do, don’t you?”

“I sure as hell don’t.” But he wished he did, because then he wouldn’t have to figure out how to get around his great-grandpa’s will. He could just get married and be done with it. “How about you?” he added.

“How about me what?”

“Got a boyfriend?” As unlikely as that seemed.

Her eyes flashed behind the unattractive glasses. “As a matter of fact—”

A knock on the door interrupted. He pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to her since she was nearer the door than he and the room wasn’t big enough to get past without major maneuvering. She glanced at the bill and her eyes widened; then she passed it on before accepting a small metal tray from unseen hands.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, she put down the tray and lifted the light cloth covering. “On top of everything else, you’re an overtipper.”

“Hell,” he said, “I can afford it.” Or could once, but that was none of her damn business.

The heady aromas of spicy Mexican food floated up to him, and his mouth watered again in anticipation. “I’m starved.” He reached for a burrito.

“Me, too.” She chose a wedge of quesadilla oozing cheese. They ate in silence for a few moments, then opened the two bottles of water and drank.

Eventually she said out of the clear blue, “I wonder what will become of the hijackers.”

“I hope whoever locks them up throws away the key.” He selected another burrito. He could hardly believe she’d been thinking about those two jerks. “They sure played hell with my life,” he went on. “I should be in Hells Bells, Texas, right about now, trying to—” He shut up, musing that he was probably better off stranded here than trying to fast-talk his father.

“Trying to what?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”

“Yes.” She gave him that assessing look again. “Does it have anything to do with you giving all the credit for stopping those hijackers to that guy from Dubuque?”

“What if it does? I just don’t want my name in the newspapers. What’s so strange about that?” One thing would lead to another. If anything got printed about his recent business reverses, he wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing his judges that he was a changed man. “Besides,” he added, “I didn’t do all that much.”

“A guy saves an entire plane full of people and dodges credit for it. You don’t consider that a bit peculiar?”

“No stranger than setting out for San Antonio and ending up lost in Baja California,” he improvised. “Besides, my mother would probably have a heart attack if she heard about this. I want to keep her in a good mood and this wouldn’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to keep your mother in a good mood?”

“Because…” Fed up with her questions, he glared—and gave in. “Look, I’m on my way to Texas to claim an inheritance. I need my mom’s cooperation.”

“That sounds simple enough.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt.

“You’d think so.” Shut up, Rand. “Unfortunately there’s nothing simple about it. I don’t meet the conditions of the will because, for starters, I’m not married.” Now, why had he said that? Maybe because he was sick and tired of keeping his problems to himself.

She was incredulous. “You’ve got to be married to get whatever this is?”

“It was my great-grandpa’s bright idea. He left me his ranch and everything on it, which adds up to a small fortune. But to get it, I have to not only be married but be happily married before I turn thirty.”

“Which is—?”

“September 30…less than two weeks.”

“Gee, you are in trouble.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “Look at the bright side. The key word is married, because once you’ve done that, who’s to judge what happily means?”

“That’s easy—my parents and two sets of aunts and uncles. The final say is theirs. But since I’m not married, happily or otherwise, it’s a moot point.”

“What is it you’re trying to get out of them, exactly?”

“I want to break my great-grandpa’s will. The only way I can do that is with their help.”

“And your chances of pulling that off are…?”

“Only slightly less than slim and none.” He was desperate enough to give it a try, however. Cocking his head, he considered. Now that he’d had a little food, he felt worlds better. But he was talking way too much, so he changed the subject. “How about you? How important is that job in San Antonio?”

“You mean the one with the interview set for tomorrow morning at ten—make that this morning at ten?” She sighed a bit dramatically. “Not that important, I suppose, since it’s out the window now.”

“Surely they’ll reschedule when they learn what happened.”

“I doubt it. I only got the interview as a favor to my sister, who used to date—oh, never mind.” She shook her head wearily. “My life’s a mess, so what difference will it make if this job doesn’t pan out?”

He felt a pang of sympathy. “You’re young. You have skills. You can find something. Hell, I’ll help you.”

“You? But you said you don’t even have a job yourself. You’re just some rich guy who—”

“Hold on there!” Incensed, he glared at her. “I’m not just some rich guy. I have…business interests.” Yeah, failed business interests. But the situation might improve if he could get his hands on Bill Overton for five minutes. “I also have a certain amount of influence here and there—and even if I didn’t, I could get you a job. How hard can it be?”

“Have you ever done it? Gotten anybody a job, I mean.”

He had very little experience with gainful employment.

“Your hesitation speaks volumes,” she said. “What do your business interests include?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Damn, that sounded hostile.

“I see. You’re clamming up on me again.”

“Not really. I’m a dull boy.”

“Sure you are.” She gave him a disgusted glance and rose, still cold. “Thanks so much for your offer of help, but I think I’ll find my own job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hunt down the bathroom.”

“Okay.” He also rose, disconcerted by her attitude. “Don’t wake me when you come back in.”

She looked him in the eye, which was easy enough at her height, although he himself was a good six-foot-plus. “That brings up something else. I’m here because I have no choice—here sharing this room with you, I mean.”

“I know that,” he said, annoyed.

“I’ll stay on my side of the bed and you stay on yours. If you so much as touch me, I’ll…I’ll make you regret it.”

He rolled his eyes, tempted to say that if he touched her it would only be because he was asleep or delirious. “I have no intention of touching you.”

She didn’t appear to believe him, despite the nod. “I’m going to sleep fully clothed and I suggest you do the same.”

“Dressed? I can’t sleep in my clothes.”

“Under the circumstances, I insist. Your other option is to bed down in the lobby.”

He sighed. “Okay, Maxine. We’ll do it your way…this time”

But never again. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was protection against Rand Taggart.

PLATILLO VOLANTE LOOKED even drearier by the light of day. Dirt roads and adobe buildings were the norm, with a few dilapidated hotels and more gracious dwellings perched on the surrounding hills. But the air was sweet and clear. Rand drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders for the inevitable crises to come and walked back inside to join Maxine in the crowded dining room for breakfast.

José, the expatriate Los Angeleno, appeared with menus.

Maxine spoke to him in Spanish.

As usual, José answered in English. “I recommend the huevos rancheros.”

“Works for me.” Rand closed his menu.

Maxine nodded. “Me, too.”

“Can I ask a question?”

They both looked at Rand as if he were a nuisance.

“What does Platillo Volante mean?” he asked.

José grinned. “It means flying saucer. They say one visited here in the late forties. Everybody thought it would come back, which is why they changed the town’s name and built that campo de aviación—the flying field that saved your lives. Several fancy hotels went up—” He gestured to the spacious if shabby room. “Rich American tourists came in droves for a while, but when no more flying saucers dropped by, they got mad and went home. By the mid-fifties, the boom was all over.” He shook his head in wonder. “Flying saucers—do you believe it? Some people will fall for anything.”

Rand didn’t need anybody telling him that.

THE TWO-LANE PAVED ROAD wound its way through some of the most beautiful country in Mexico or anywhere else. On the left lay the ocean, miles and miles of unspoiled beaches; on the right a range of low mountains shimmered green in the distance.

Rand and Maxine sat near the front of the rattle-trap bus, sweltering in noonday heat. Rand’s thoughts were not pleasant.

The hijacking had turned out all right, but unfortunately the Mexican detour had given him time he didn’t need, or want, to brood, to question his plan—and to arrive at the unwelcome conclusion that he was on a fool’s errand.

He would never gain his family’s support in challenging Thom T.’s will. Hell, he’d have a better shot at that inheritance if he hired some bimbo to play his wife and—

An explosion rocked the bus. The driver dragged hard on the wheel, bumping to a stop on the shoulder. Rand let out the breath he’d been holding. That had been a close one.

Maxine stared at him, eyes wide and a hand over her heart. “What happened?”

“Flat tire, I think.”

“Do you suppose he has a spare?”

“Who the hell knows?”

There was indeed a spare tire, but it was even balder than the one with the big old nail sticking out of it. While the driver grunted and cussed and toiled, passengers spilled out of the stifling bus and spread out in a vain attempt to find anything cool or shady. Maxine and a few others wandered across the narrow road to stand on the bluff overlooking the ocean.

Finishing the job, the driver wiped sweat from his forehead and lowered the jack. As if sensing imminent departure, Maxine turned from the sea.

Rand caught his breath. For just an instant she stood there framed against a pristine blue sky. Tendrils of hair blew around her face and the dowdy dress molded a figure he’d never imagined. Just for that moment, she looked…fantastic.

But then she walked toward him and it was the same old Maxine who asked, “Are we ready to go?”

He blinked, figuring he was in worse shape than he’d realized if he saw something that couldn’t possibly be there. “Yeah. Get in.”

When everyone was aboard, the driver ground the gearshift into first and once more they were under way.

Maxine said suddenly, “What if the bus driver keeled over with a heart attack or decided he’d had enough of this nonsense? Do you know how to drive a standard transmission?”

“Maxine, don’t we have enough to worry about without that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes, I know how to drive a standard transmission. My great-grandpa taught me out in the pasture in the middle of a bunch of longhorns.”

“That’s a relief. The way things are going…” She relaxed back against the tattered seat cover. “Is that the same great-grandpa with the kooky will?”

“The very same.”

“He must have been a real character,” she said. “If you want that inheritance so much, I’m surprised you don’t just get married.”

“You think that’s so easy?” he shot back.

She shrugged. “Piece of cake. I’ll bet you’ve got girls lusting after you from coast to coast.”

“Aren’t you funny.” He gave her a disapproving glance.

“I notice you don’t deny it.”

“Would it do any good?”

“Probably not.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. “Maybe there’s one special girlfriend and you’d marry her, but she’s…I don’t know, unavailable or something.”

“Why wouldn’t she be available?”

“Lots of reasons. She could be out of the country. Or…in jail?”

Rand laughed incredulously. “You’ve got the damnedest imagination of any woman I’ve ever met. Do I look like the kind of guy who’d hang with some babe who’d get thrown into jail? I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said stiffly. “If you don’t really care that much about your inheritance, I don’t suppose—”

“I do care. I care a helluva lot. But I can’t go waltzing in with some bimbo and expect my family to fall into line.” He grimaced.

“I don’t care for the word bimbo,” she said. “Just what does it cover?”

“You want a definition? It means…Okay, how about this. A bimbo is a woman who goes to bed with a guy on the first date.”

“You mean like me?”

He was so shocked he nearly choked. “You didn’t—” But she had. She’d gone to bed with him and lain next to him all night, even though they were both fully clothed and wrapped in individual blanket cocoons.

Embarrassed, he tried to turn aside her wrath. “Lighten up, Maxine. Don’t take it personal.” Uncomfortably aware that he’d blasted her pretty good without meaning to, he added, “You know what you are.”

“Yes, but you don’t.” She sounded completely exasperated. “Inside, I could be…Madonna.” She glared at him.

“Maybe so, but outside, where the rest of the world can see it, you’re…you’re…”

“I’m what, Rand Taggart?”

“You’re…” Inspiration hit him right between the eyes. “You’re not a bimbo. In fact, you’re just the kind of woman I need to get my family to approve my inheritance.”